I can’t concentrate today because I am seeing her tonight. The thought makes my pussy wet. I crave her flesh, the smooth pale curves of her body. She is my obsession, my carefully guarded secret and she is filling my head with filthy thoughts about what I will do to her later.

My boyfriend thinks we are just friends. He doesn’t know how much I yearn to be in her arms, how I ache for the contrast of her soft body as he holds me against his hard muscle. She isn’t his type; he likes his women like me, boyish and skinny with no bum and tits that are only just a handful. Sophia is the opposite of me. My hands glide over her curves, fingers disappearing into the folds of her flesh, always a different place to explore as she moves beneath my touch.

My phone heralds the arrival of a text and I grab it. Please let it be from her. My need to be with her is bordering on insanity and I want to know that she is thinking about our evening together as much as I am.

Hey beautiful, I’m counting the minutes until you get here. I’ve got a treat for you later; I’m going to give you a makeover.

I smile because she wants me as much as I want her. I know this deep down but I hunger for the reassurance her words give me. No one has ever taken the time to woo me with words like she does, no one has taken the time to find out what I like and then turn my fantasies into reality…

***

I trust that has teased you into wanting to read more! Let’s dip a toe into the words of Tabitha Rayne…

Francesca’s Mother

I couldn’t help but stare.

She was perfection in her black bikini, standing in front of me in line for the waterslide. From her heels to her calves, all the way up the back of her thighs to the dip and crease of her buttocks, her legs were flawless. Olive, hair-free skin had me mesmerized. I was now glad of the long queue which previously had me shivering. With all the self assurance of a foreign exchange student, she gracefully lifted her ponytail and tied it in a knot. I swallowed hard as I caught a glimpse of thick dark hair curling under her arms. My heart leapt and I was instantly thrown back to my youth.

Francesca’s mother was my guilty pleasure. I would stay for long weekends at their house and spend the whole time preoccupied by the huge maternal presence that commanded the family home with gentle force. I would find any excuse to go into the kitchen and watch her knead dough on the antique pine table, her braless breasts swinging and gently slapping together beneath a purple smock dress. She was so mighty and strong and, though I couldn’t name it at the time, sensual. When she moved near me I’d inhale her scent. Underneath the rosemary and garlic, there was something else; something musky and dangerous. It at once attracted and repelled me, but I always filled my lungs with the delicious warmth, seeking that hidden perfume.

“Look at this,” Francesca pulled me into her mother’s bedroom one trip home from college. We sprawled on the bed reading Anais Nin and Nancy Friday books until we could gasp and giggle no more. I read the words, becoming more and more physically turned on. I’d had a few ferociously passionate encounters at college and was no stranger to sex, but I sensed these books were exploring something else too. Something more than the physical. They made me want to be with the mighty woman downstairs.

“I’m just going for a drink,” I told Francesca and rolled off the bed, taking care not to show the damp spot forming in my jeans.

When I got to the kitchen, Francesca’s mother was standing over a huge pot of broth on the stove. Thick meaty smells filled the room, and as she lifted her elbow to stir the great vat, a tuft of glossy black curls sprang into view. I was slightly repulsed but my mouth started watering and warmth and moisture spread between my legs. I sat on a stool and pressed my hands onto my mound, rocking my pelvis into my fists while Francesca’s mother stirred the soup. I came in my jeans just as she tapped the drips off the ladle on the side of the pot.

The atmosphere was charged and I was sure I caught her eyes flit across my tiny hard nipples while she swept away wild peppery hair from her brow with her forearm. I lifted my ribcage and stared at her, daring her to look again, but she didn’t. She turned back to the range and opened the oven door. Steam and the odour of fresh baked bread broke the spell and I hopped off the stool and sped back up to Francesca, at once invigorated and ashamed.

And now, at the swimming pool of all places, these feelings had returned. The queue bustled into me and I stumbled slightly into the back of the poised beauty in front. She looked haughtily round and I licked my lips involuntarily at the sight of hers. Full and raw with a dusting of fine hairs on her upper lip. Suddenly I was consumed with want for this woman. I could have grabbed her there and then. I could feel my nipples peaking as she looked at me straight in the eye…

****

Okay- fanning yourself with a handy newspaper yet? Swapped the cup of tea for a cool drink with plenty of ice? Take a deep breath dear reader- because here comes Natalie Dae (aka Emmy Ellis, Geraldine O’Hara and Sarah Masters)…

Figment

I need a woman who wants me to fuck her until she thinks she’s going to fall apart. I need a woman who wants me as much as I want her. I need…her.

In the murk of his bedroom—just a small nightlight glowing on his bedside cabinet—Will stared at the grey, shimmering shape in front of him. He shivered, anticipating its manifestation into the woman who’d visited him nightly for God knew how long. Time was a blur. She had remained a shape at first, then, over the nights that followed, showed herself more and more. He knew why he hadn’t been able to see all of her—she wasn’t real, wasn’t firm enough in his mind for him to bring her into proper focus. In short, he didn’t know what he wanted, wasn’t sure who his perfect partner would be, and he needed to know in order for her to exist. He was nearly there, though. The previous evening she’d almost revealed her whole self, from her naked, hour-glass figure to her long, blue-tinted black hair, but her face was still a mystery.

Nude beneath the sheets, he let out a laboured breath, staring at the foot of his bed and willing her to change. To speak. If she did he’d be lucky. No woman had spoken to him in that way for months. And that was what he wanted—a woman to encourage him out of his shell with filthy words that inspired his cock to harden, had him reciprocating, getting her wet and wanting. Yet he didn’t have the courage to return those words—he knew he wouldn’t, that if a woman approached him and whispered the things he imagined she might, he’d stall, become more introverted. She was a figment of his imagination, nothing more, borne of loneliness and the need to share his life with someone.

How had it come to this…this woman of his dreams plaguing his nights?

He knew only too well. Leading a solitary life was a killer.

There, a sparkle of her outline, an aura that lit her up, then she filled herself in, much like the hour glass she was, the sand growing from the bottom up until she became full. At last, her face was clear, one of staggering beauty that had him realising he’d known her all along in his subconscious. A breeze through his open window fluttered her hair, streaming it out to one side, showcasing a dainty chin and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Startling green eyes seemed to light for a moment before dousing—I imagined that; no one’s eyes glow like that—and she curved her full, rose-pink lips into a slightly parted smile.

Christ, she’s so fucking beautiful…

That was the problem. He’d created a woman who didn’t exist. He’d made her ideal, while he was far from that. He needed to have his hair cut—it had grown long and unkempt since…well, since the other her had been in his life—and he’d allowed his stubble to grow into something more than a speckle of five o’clock shadow.

He wondered if he was going crazy, holed up as he was each evening after work and only going out every so often at weekends. Whether he’d created his perfect woman so he could feel less alone, less of a… failure. Since his last relationship had withered, he’d lacked the self-confidence to go out and find a new lover, someone to laugh with, be with. Someone to sit beside and not have to say a word to. A woman who just knew him. Instead, he’d concentrated on working out, his muscles so defined now, the skin covering them untouched by feminine hands.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice reedy, as though she hadn’t quite been able to completely arrive.

I should be asking her that question…

***

I feel I shouldn’t be interrupting you now- I’m sure you’d rather I just quickly reminded you where you can get the complete anthology, and left you to read and… umm… stuff, in peace…

It’s day 3 of our dive into the Brit Babes FREE anthology, Sexy Just Walked Into Town. Today I’m handing over to Lucy Felthouse, who is treating us to a snippet from her story, The Wrong End of the Stick …

Extract…

Bonnie stifled a sigh. He was doing it again. Staring at her, as he had been every day that week. She was on a fortnight’s training course through work, the only one from her office who’d been sent. As a result, she knew no one and ended up sitting alone in the college’s cafeteria at lunchtimes. She’d had a couple of invites from kindly people also on her course, but she’d turned them down. It wasn’t that she was being rude or anti-social, she just hated people to see her eat. She was a big girl—that was putting it politely—and when people saw her have a meal, she could feel the judgement rolling off them in waves, the thoughts that she was fat because she ate so much.

It wasn’t true. About what she ate, that was. She was fat, and there was no denying it. But it certainly wasn’t her doing. She’d been born to large parents, and despite a healthy diet and plenty of exercise, she was still overweight. All she ever managed to shift was a pound or two here and there, and that was hardly noticeable, particularly on a woman her size. She kept at it, though, resigned to being a larger lady, but determined not to get any bigger.

Because she’d always been big, she was used to the snide comments, the dirty and derisive looks, the open stares. So it didn’t upset her any more, but she still got irritated when people simply gawped at her. Surely one glance was enough for them to ascertain that yes, she was a shapely girl, and then move on. In most cases it was, particularly if she glared at the person in question. But not with this guy. Bonnie was sure he was trying to be subtle, because he often averted his gaze as she trained hers on him. But even if he’d looked away, she could tell by the position of his head and body that he’d been peeking at her. Again.

Now, on day seven, she was almost at boiling point. What the hell was his problem? Had no one ever told him it was rude to stare? She was on the verge of doing just that.

Eating her lunch was an unpleasant task, knowing she was being observed. If she hadn’t been so damn hungry, she’d have left it. But she’d been running late that morning and had committed that mortal sin—missing breakfast. So her chicken salad—with no dressing—was absolutely necessary to avoid making herself feel ill, or passing out, so she devoured every last morsel. She ate faster than she normally would, not because she was being greedy, but because the sooner she finished eating, the sooner she’d stop feeling so damn self-conscious about the guy across the room watching her.

She decided to give him one last chance. When she’d finished her lunch, she’d drink her carton of apple juice, then sit for a few seconds, doing nothing. If he continued to look at her, she was going to stomp over there and give him what for. If he didn’t, then she’d carry on with life and do her best to forget about him and his rudeness…

*****

The Wrong End of the Stick was originally written for Coming Together with Curves, a charity anthology co-edited by myself and Victoria Blisse, whereby all proceeds go to Parkinson’s UK.

As the title states, the book is all about curves, so I sat down to think about what tale I could tell about a big beautiful woman. And that’s when the idea popped into my head – what would happen if a man was so taken with a curvy chick that he just couldn’t stop staring at her? And what would happen when she caught him staring and got the wrong end of the stick? After I’d worked that bit out, the story pretty much wrote itself. I had lots of fun writing this one and am pleased to show it off to a new audience in SJWIT.

*****

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

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Don’t forget you can get your FREE copy of Sexy Just Walked Into Town from all good e-retailers, including-

Yippee!!! I’m delighted to say that the Brit Babes very first anthology, Sexy Just Walked into Town, is (as well as being available as a FREE e-book) now out in a gorgeous paperback!

Blurb

Sexy Just Walked Into Townis a collection of delicious erotic and romantic stories from the Brit Babes. These eight British authors have put together a book of tales to tease and tantalise you, each one a sample of the individual Babes’ voices and styles. You’ll find contemporary, BDSM, same-sex loving, ménage a trois, paranormal, sporty, military, Rubenesque and more. There’s something to suit everyone here including a few Brit Babe collaborations.

Ranging from sweetly vanilla to so-hot-it-will-blow-your-mind, the Brit Babes aim to please in every literary fantasy department. Their heroes are strong, determined and soul-achingly divine and their heroines sassy, sexy and not afraid to grab what they want. Passion and pleasure is the name of the game, romance and raunch a top priority and it all comes with a delightful sprinkle of kink.

With a whole host of awards, best-sellers and accolades between them, the Babes just know you’ll find something in this anthology that will keep you turning the pages and squirming on your seat. Then, if you like what you read here, check out the individual authors’ websites to investigate their collection of published works. Also visit the Brit Babes’ home on the web which acts as a library for the hundreds of books published by them. Tell your friends, spread the word, because one thing you can be sure of, is when the Brit Babes arrive, sexy has just walked into town!

And please, if you enjoy this anthology, leave a review. The Babes will be forever grateful.